"You girls better come on over to my rooms," urged Monte. "We'll cook your breakfast on the chafing-dish, won't we, Mac?"
"Me for the couch!" said Birdie. "I'm cross-eyed, I'm so sleepy."
"I'm not going," said Nance, shortly.
"Don't be a short-sport, Nance," urged Birdie, peevishly. "It's as good as morning now. We can loaf around Monte's for a couple of hours and then go over to my room and change our clothes in time to get to the station by seven. Less time we have to answer questions, better it'll be for us."
"I tell you I ain't going!" protested Nance, hotly.
"Yes, you are!" whispered Mac softly. "You are going to be a good little girl and do whatever I want you to."
Nance grew strangely silent under his compelling look, and under the touch of his hand as it sought hers in the darkness. Why wasn't she angry with Mr. Mac as she was with the others? Why did she want so much to do whatever he asked her to? After all perhaps there was no harm in going to Mr. Monte's for a little while, perhaps—
She drew in her breath suddenly and shivered. For the first time in her life she was afraid, not of the storm, or the consequences of her escapade, but of herself. She was afraid of the quick, sweet shiver that ran over her whenever Mac touched her, of the strange weakness that came over her even now, as his hands claimed hers.
"Say, I'm going to get out," she said suddenly.
"Stop the car! Don't you hear me? I want to get out!"